


Magister

by Morgyn Leri (morgynleri)



Series: They Who Sleep in Elysium [6]
Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Alternate Universe, GFY, Immortals in Space, M/M, Slice of Life, not a lot of puns just a couple and possibly obscure but they're there, puns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-19
Updated: 2017-12-19
Packaged: 2019-02-17 04:46:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13069434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morgynleri/pseuds/Morgyn%20Leri
Summary: Rebecca and Methos travel to Elysium to visit friends.





	Magister

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lferion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lferion/gifts).



It is a world of blue-green forests and shining emerald plains, lapis-dark oceans and glittering silver trails of rivers, looking as pristine as if they had been untouched by human hands. Only a slender cable from umbilical scar to floating sattelite tells where the settlement has been made on the smallest continent, at least from orbit.

Down and down and _down_ , beyond the shale and slate and granite that paint shades of gray around the umbilical scar, into a cavern lit by natural sunlight captured and transmitted. Green climbs the walls, twining around stairs and balconies, punctuated with splashes of vivid red and pale blue, cheerful yellow and flaming orange, royal purple and brilliant white.

A blandly smiling messenger is waiting for them, synthskin a gold-flecked slate that echos the upper walls of the cavern. "Welcome to Elysium, Magisters. Your rooms are waiting, and Her Grace asks that you join her for the evening meal."

"Of course." Rebecca nods with her own easy smile. "We would be delighted."

"Are there any dietary preferences I should forward to the kitchen, Magisters?" The messenger watches them in thier peripheral vision as they led the way through green and gray-brown tunnels with soft moss underfoot and hidden flowers scenting the gentle breeze.

"I'm sure whatever they are preparing for Her Grace will suit us, thank you."

"I'd prefer not to eat insects, myself." Methos's voice is cheerful irreverance that feels both incongruous and entirely right for this idyllic garden. "They remind me too much of having nothing else to eat."

The messenger hums, though their expression never changes from bland, polite unreadibility. "Noted, Magister."

"Call me Paul, please." He wrinkles his nose a moment. "I never liked formality."

"Noted, Paul." The messenger turns at a crossing, and the tunnel of trees soon gives way to a tunnel of smooth-polished marble, ship-boots and messenger feet alike clicking quietly against warm honey-gold wood.

The walk is longer than Rebecca expected, a winding path through the mountain the settlement is honeycombed into. A last corridor is wider than the others, straw-pale panelling and red-walnut floor, and the doors that open off one side are all heavy oak banded in iron.

"Your rooms, Magisters." The messenger opens one on the end, into a sitting room with a broad window that shows a wide valley and a river gleaming as it winds across the bottom. "If you require anything, the com codes for service are in the directory."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome, Magister."

Rebecca moves to the window once the door shuts behind the messenger, looking out at the view. From here, she can see the patchwork of field and pasture, the moving dots of some herd animal, and the thin lines of roads winding down from the mountains toward those fertile fields and the river beyond.

"Do you think they make a decent beer?" Methos has already sprawled on one of the couches that face the window, the directory in hand as he scrolls through whatever menus are there.

"You can always try what beers they have, and decide which meet your standards." Rebecca smiles at him as she turns away from the view, looking over the room. An arch on one side leads to a spiralling stair up to a bedroom with a pair of wide beds. No assumptions of intimacy or lack thereof.

A closet and a compact bathroom both open off the bedroom, a skylight providing sun to the closet and gleaming on the warm woods that are used to floor and panel it. Familiar clothing in two sizes waits hung inside, and Rebecca shakes her head with a small smile. Harold's doing, no doubt, preparing for their arrival, though she wonders how long this has been ready for them.

The bathroom is simple, a toilet and a sink, though a note waits on the counter, written on a rare piece of paper. Telling her to check the directory for the bath house. Water isn't allocated for individuals to have their own showers or tubs, not even in the primary settlement.

Rebecca smiles again, leaving the note for Methos to find when he comes upstairs. She'll have to ask what the planetary bath house etiquette is. It's been a long time since public baths were common on Earth, and she's missed them.

* * *

"Magister Xanthia Rebecca and Magister Paul Landau, Your Grace." The messenger announces them as they stepped into an airy and bright room at the other end of the same corridor their suite opened off of. Not the same as before, with grass-green synthskin, and a sharply assessing gaze that is unaccompanied even by the bland sort of smile as the first one.

"One moment." Aida doesn't look up from the tablet in her hand, a fleeting grimace crossing her face before she taps her fingers rapidly across the surface, finishing whatever task had distracted her. "My apologies. Crises respect no schedule."

"Anything which we might assist with?" Rebecca smiles easily as Aida looks up from her desk.

"No. All that can be done other than wait has been done." Aida sets the tablet aside, pushing away from her desk. "Would you care for anything to drink, Magisters?"

"Beer, if you have any." Methos's smile is careless and bright, if with less of the warmth of Rebecca's. The not-quite-mocking smile of Paul Landau, Magister of the Intersteller Union, daring the planetary leader to tell him no.

"Do you have a preferred type?" Aida returns the challenge with one of her own, and Rebecca represses the desire to roll her eyes at them.

"Lager." Methos follows Aida as she goes through an arch into a dining room. "Though I'll drink any beer you put in front of me."

"At least once." Aida waves them toward the table, servers waiting at each place. "Try the High South. It's the one Uncle Leroy likes least."

"That's an interesting method of recommending a beer." Methos nods his head to his server, and its screen flickers, the order registered and sent.

"He prefers something heavier and with herbs other than hops." Aida shrugs, tapping the screen of her server. "He also said it would be to your tastes, Magister Landau."

Methos raises an eyebrow, though Aida blatently ignores his unspoken question.

"We also have some decent wines, though a limited selection, and there's always non-alcoholic options." Aida glances at Rebecca, tilting her head to the server. "The first ciders have been pressed, and there are tangerines in the greenhouses. Water is off the aqueduct down from North Peaks. We just switched over last week from the Umbilical Aqueduct."

Drinks come swiftly once choices are made, and the dishes for the meal after that. Food full of spices and herbs, sweet and savory intermingled, reminding Rebecca of centuries more past than present. A menu she can see Harold's deft touch in more than mortal curiosity.

* * *

"I hope the wait wasn't too boring, Xanthia." Harold smiles as he leans down to kiss Rebecca's cheek.

"Aida has been a gracious host, as well as there being plenty to tour in our official capacity." Rebecca kisses Harold's cheek in return, waving him to one of the other comfortable chairs in the public room. "Weather delays?"

"Rock slide across the road delay." Harold gives her a wry smile, eschewing the chair in favor of sitting at her feet. "We backtracked and took the longer road home after reporting it, rather than wait for road maintenance to clear it."

"Where is Leroy?" Rebecca had expected them to visit together, though she's yet to meet Harold's husband. Only knows him from the stories Harold has told her of him.

"Hopefully sleeping." Harold's brow furrows a little, his gaze fixed somewhere out in the valley. "He hasn't slept well for the last few days."

Rebecca presses her knee against Harold's shoulder, and doesn't ask if the worries had been nerves or nightmares. She has all the time in the universe to meet Leroy when he's ready to meet her.

* * *

Neither Rebecca nor Methos has left behind sparring with swords, even if it's now more a sport and friendly competition than a lethal necessity in this new era. She does not expect to find Methos already sparring with someone else in the offered room when she goes looking for him. His opponent is good, and though she cannot sense him, he cannot be mortal if Methos is willing to use live steel.

When Methos's sword bites into his side, he goes down with a grunt of pain, and movement draws Rebecca's attention to Harold as he comes to catch the falling man. Leroy, than, and someone Methos is at least passing familiar with.

"You're getting sloppy." Methos gives Leroy a mildly reproachful look.

Leroy laughs, though that turns into another groan as it jars his wound. "My only opponent who has anything resembling your skill, oh Ancient One, is Harold, and there is only so much that can do."

Methos grimaces and crouches down so he's eye-level with Leroy. "We'll be here for a few more weeks. You can ask me to spar any time."

"Except when you're busy being Magister Landau, I expect." Leroy draws in a slow breath, poking gingerly at his side. Rebecca can see the flesh slowly knitting together through the rip in the shirt. "I may take you up on the offer."

"I know I will." Harold has a wry smile on his face, and he bats Leroy's hand away from the wound. "It will heal faster if you leave it alone."

"Perhaps." Leroy has a wry smile on his face. "It will heal well enough regardless." He takes the hand Harold offers, levering himself to his feet, before he notices Rebecca. "My lady."

"Call me Xanthia, please." Rebecca smiles, and is rewarded with a sunny one from Leroy. "I am glad to finally meet you. Harold has spoken much of you, and all of it fondly."

"Oh, I am not the saint he no doubt makes me out to be." Leroy chuckles, shaking his head when Harold snorts, and pokes him gently in the side. "He speaks very well of you, as well."

"I shall hope he doesn't make me sound a saint, either." Rebecca glances at Harold, who shrugs, an amused smile on his face. "And if you will accept the offer, I would make the same one as Paul, to spar while I am here."

Leroy nods. "I may take you up on the offer, as well. Are you to leave when he does?"

Rebecca is silent a moment, weighing her answer. "I had not yet decided."

If she stays, it will be in good company of one of her few living students, and in a place which seems to enjoy peace and plenty. If she goes, she has the whole of the galaxy to continue to explore, and she knows Methos will be at her side for a long while yet. Or perhaps she will make a choice somewhere in the middle, to explore and travel, and still to make her home here to return to when she wishes rest and some measure of solitude.

* * *

"The rooms will always be there for you both, when you want to come back." Harold is escorting them through the central garden to the lift, rather than leaving it in the hands of the messenger who'd first met them. Jarone, as they'd learned xir's name is. "I hope it won't be as long this time between visits."

"A century, perhaps?" Rebecca smiles at Harold's roll of the eyes. "It may take that long to travel across the galaxy and back."

"Then I shall hope the technology improves in travel time." He stops in the small courtyard around the lift, pulling her into a hug. "I will miss you, Xanthia."

"It was good to visit, and I promise, I will come back again."

"But you cannot stay."

"Magister is an eight-year post. I still have another six years before it is open for re-appointment."

Harold gives her a wry smile. "And then you have the entire galaxy to explore."

"So do you. Perhaps it will be you who is traveling wide when next we meet."

"Perhaps. When Leroy would rather travel than remain home." Harold steps back, watching as they leave. As they step onto the lift and it takes them up past a ceiling of layered stone, through layers of clouds, and into the light-studded black of space where their ship waits at the orbital platform. Where all they can see are swathes of green and blue and white, with one storm engulfing the mountains of the southern continent, and hiding the settlement from sight.


End file.
